


A Dead, Beating Heart and Thrumming Stars

by sadaf



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mindless Fluff, SO SORRY ITS OOC BASICALLY THIS AMPORA IS JUST A NICE-ISH ERIDAN IDK, Smut, THIS WAS WRITTEN BEFORE WE MET CRONUS, also, eridan/karkat - Freeform, erikar - Freeform, greaserscar, i promise smut, no I'm not kidding this is sappy as hell, soon, sort of a karkat/eridan parallel to an extent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:41:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadaf/pseuds/sadaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kankri stops working on a speech to spend some quiet time with Ampora.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dead, Beating Heart and Thrumming Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mechipenccils](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mechipenccils).



> A darling tumblr user- mechipenccils (mechipenccils.tumblr.com) requested a short ficlet in her askbox. Being one of the few buddies who I knew shipped Erikar (a guilty pleasure of mine), I was all over it, satisfying the Kankri/ Greaserscar within us. 
> 
> It morphed into 'Gay Aliens Boys Night' as I blindly stumbled into making this fluffy ass thing. My god, this was fun to write though. After some mild editing I'm putting this up!

He’s giving you a strange look. You don’t try to interpret what it means, though, you’re rather focused on laying down another sermon- you mean, opinion! You’re rather focused on laying down an opinion to perhaps talk to Porrim about, if she’s in the mood and willing to banter. If things go well she may even not get mad about your disinterest on gender roles, who knows. It’s just that you can’t see any proof that either gender-

Wait, he’s still looking at you? You shift uncomfortably and pull at the collar of your fat red sweater. God, it’s too hot for this, but your lusus- Porrim! You meant Porrim, why did you call her your lusus, seriously. But Porrim wouldn’t be pleased if you took it off and flaunted high waisted jeans. You thought they were almost dashing, but she insisted and you didn’t want to alarm her to the point of being triggered. You had mentioned this to her while she wrestled you into the woolbeast article of clothing, thinking she would be impressed at your thoughtfulness, but she rather growled at you threateningly. “Stop being patronizing, Kankri,” she had hissed. “There’s a difference between being triggered and being upset about clothing, but you’re too dense to see that!”

You muse over what she had said to you, because maybe she was right, maybe you were jumping the gun with a consistent stream of ‘trigger warnings.’ But come on, you had to maintain an image of being an understanding troll! Obviously people wouldn’t understand that if you didn’t constantly emphasize how sensitive you can be.

Your peer is still staring at you, hands deep in his pockets. His hair’s slicked back, and there’s a- gross- a smoke emiting rod in his mouth.

“Ampora,” you start, amiably. “Please refrain from indulging in that activity around me. I do not mean to infringe on your right to use the rod, but frankly it may cause headaches for others in the area!”

Ampora looks startled that you noticed him. The rod almost falls from his mouth, which you suppose is endearing. Sort of.

“Eh?” he replies. He looks cutely confused. “What are you even goin’ off about, Vant- oh. Wait, you mean my cig?”

You rolls your eyes, forgetting that it’s not visible with the milky white irises awarded at death. “Yes, Ampora, I mean your ‘cig.’ However, I think that in the future you should abstain from using such highblood vernacular- it demeans others, if you aren’t aware.”

You sniff at the end of your statement. People need to be more accommodating about hemospectrum issues, and you will make them be more accommodating! In your own gentle manner, though.

He frowns at you. “What the flippin hell are you even goin’ off about Kan, half the time I can’t even comprehend the garbage that comes outta your mouth. Good cod.”

You open your mouth to further explain, but he doesn’t looked thrilled at the idea, so he beats you to the punch, stomping close and smacking a hand over your mouth. Goodness! He didn’t even warn you, this could be majorly triggering to a lesser troll- how dare he have the nerve! You feel your face begin to burn as you get skirt dangerously close to seething. Losing your temper is not something you do often, but the few times you have- well, Meenah looks at you as if she wouldn’t mind being your friend.

You are almost certain that this time he’s rolling his eyes at you. “Good grief, Kan, you’re going to work your mouth dry if you keep yappin’ about issues no one is givin a hootin’ shit over anymore. And about the other comment, too- you don’t want me to use ‘cig?’ Then how a come you were usin’ lowblood weird ass words, with all the ‘smokin rod’ thing? You’re a right down hypocrite, aren’t ya?”

The statement gives you pause, in which Ampora flashes a delighted, smug grin at you. Your face heats up a bit more.

“Now,” he says, slowly. Almost condescendingly, as if Meenah herself is telling him the lines. “I had come here to ask if you wanted to hang around in a bubble with me, you know, without the part where you try to explain to me why Beforan ways are flawed or whatever the hell you bust a nerve over.”

You grimace under his hand, which smells mostly like hair gel and cologne. It’s not too bad. There’s a hint of motor oil, though, which brings up a point. You pry his hand off and stare up at him, humoring him for a moment. “Will this bubble experience perhaps involve your four wheel vehicle?”

He looks ecstatic that you caught on. “Yes! Yes, it will involve my baby. I JUST got her shined up, too, you won’t believe the gloss on her-“ You stare at him incredulously. He refers to his car as wiggler slang? You find this simultaneously ridiculous and adorable.

You are already exasperated, but for once your mind is off social justice. “Ampora,” you say, seriously. He stops his tirade and looks at you. “You’re going to play Troll Grease songs on the radio, aren’t you?” He merely smiles wide in response to this. He knows you are the only one who puts up with that music in order to be accommodating, and in return he doesn’t abandon you at the mention of greater issues at the universe. He just sticks around and shuts the topic down, which is better, you suppose. It makes you feel less lonely.

You arrange your face back into its typical calm structure. Might as well, you’re not doing anything too important. “Fine, I’ll accompany you, Ampora,” you sigh, already braced for this moment where he lets out a satisfied shriek and grabs your hand, leading/dragging you to the edge of this memory you’re in. He is unbearably charming when he gets enthusiastic like this. “I swear, Kan, you’re really gonna love how my baby looks-“ You don’t bother telling him you don’t know the slightest thing about cars. He looks too happy to shut up.

He abruptly stops at the border of your Prospit bubble/home. “You ready?” he asks, all excitement and anticipation. You open your mouth to reply, but he’s already moving. You plunge into a new memory. There’s a strong sense of dizziness as you make the jump- goodness, you haven’t done this recently, was it always this disorientating? You open your eyes. There are tiny white lights everywhere in your vision, oh gosh maybe you should sit down? You glance at Ampora to see if he’s undergoing the same trials, but no. Rather he’s beaming at you, as if proud of himself. You are remarkably puzzled. You turn away, to your front, and you see the glaring bright violet contraption of a hoodless car. As he had promised, it is slick and bold. The blinking lights, however…this is a Beforan memory of the night sky, you realize. And it is perfectly beautiful.

Diamonds and silvery confetti and glitter shakers don't even come close to the intense burning of the billions and billions of stars sprinkled seemingly everywhere around the two of you. If someone flung masses of shining rainbow drinkers across a drowning navy hue of a sky, you’re still not sure if it’ll measure up.

“Oh,” you say in a small voice. This is completely startling. “Oh.” You stare up into a bursting sky and the miles and miles of tiny jewels, and you wonder, maybe Ampora was onto something when he said that there are meaningful things outside fighting for a dead species’ rights. When was the last time you had left that other bubble? Sweeps, you think. You had really been missing out. You are acutely aware that his hand is still clasped in yours.

In a trance, you stumble behind him as he moves forward. His hand is your anchor as you stare and stare and stare at the wide expanse all around you, unbelieving. There are no words. When you glance at your destination, you see that the car is facing off a cliff, promising an even better view. It’s clean, and the ground below- from what you see- is just a pretty valley. The whole place is surreal.

The two of you struggle into the convertible. He doesn’t bother opening a door, even, he seems unwilling to let go of your hand, which you don’t particularly object to. So you both climb over the doors, still looking wide-eyed and up. You halfway wish you could have done this when you were alive, but then you take it back- no, the quietness and awe couldn’t be attained with other people crowding the setting. It’s better alone. Or, with Ampora, you correct. Any friend would do, you guess, but Ampora seems to be the one you’d wish for in a situation like this. You don’t dwell on why, or why you feel so happy. You thought you had been enlightened, and that meant happy, right? Apparently not; apparently it doesn’t grant full time happiness. Or even part time. Mostly it grants that people get ticked off at you and you don’t know why. So this is a nice change of pace, you think, as he turns on “Summer Nights” from Troll Grease. You just smile to yourself. He is so predictable.

After a little while of the both of you being connected in mild silence, he leans forward and ticks off the radio. The two of you are slumped on each other, quiet in a comfortable sense. Slowly, you let out a long breath, just to hear what it sounds like. You both don’t need to breathe anymore, being dead, but even after eons on facing the fact you’re as done in as can be- it’s easy to miss being alive for real.

He shifts so he is facing you, an intent look in his eye. He murmurs, softly- “Kankri.”

You, in response, are frozen, eyes locked on his face. He’s apprehensive. “I, uh- I really like you.” Your mind goes blank and resonates with a perfect B flat. These words don’t have to mean what they obviously mean, you say to a rapidly panicking conscious. Perhaps he’s just being facetious? But you know he’s not. Ampora is shamelessly honest when it comes to this. And even though it’s a confession wigglers use when barely popped out of their cocoons, your face is already hot.

“I’m- I’m not completely sure that- I am a celibate, as you should know, Ampora, I-“ you stutter out, creating a tornado inside of you.

He looks at you, all purpose. “Tell me stone front you don’t feel anythin, ever, Kan,” he says as less of a challenge and more of a pleading request to say otherwise. His hands aren’t holding yours anymore, rather softly clenched around your wrists, which, in the excitement, have been brought up in front of you. You don’t know what to say. You became a celibate because it seemed like the logical, clear, right thing to do, but you barely feel a lick of sense left in your head.

You don’t say anything, preferring to stare at him with wide, bleached out eyes. He looks at you desperately with his own set. “At least…at least try, once? Please?” he croaks out, not crying at all but looking as if he no longer wants to say anything, as if he is tired beyond belief. Concentrating on holding such a vivid memory is exhausting, you had forgotten. And he had done it for the two of you.

Your chest feels wrenched down. With your insides trying to claw out, you whisper, “Okay.”

You are dead, you remind yourself. You are dead. But regardless, your heart- which really doesn’t need to beat anymore- is throbbing inside your chest. Ampora is looking at you like you are the most precious thing he’s ever seen, as if you are the brightest star under the sky. You do not know what to think of that. His hands are now cupping your face, so softly, and despite yourself, you place one hand to rest on his chest and use the other to thumb his jaw.

Now both of you are drinking each other up, searching the other’s eyes. They prove to remain as white as the stars above, and you can’t read a thing. Deliberately, noiselessly, he leans in. You wonder briefly if a ghost can be stricken with cardiac arrest.

He hovers above you for the longest moment of your life before pressing his lips to yours. And even though it’s soft and the quietest thing you may have ever done in your life, it is electric. Your heart is like a flitting chirpbeast trying to escape a cage. Your stomach has officially become an aviary for fluttergrubs. Your whole body seems to be tingling. Are the stars spinning? It’s a blur above you.

When you don’t push away, he gently bites on your lower lip. You could barely stand simple lip contact- this is overwhelming, and scary, and, and- completely wonderful. You gasp against him and the hand you rested on his chest is now clenched around a bunching of fabric there. He shyly smirks against you. It’s an oxymoron- you’d never seen smug and timid together, but it only makes you find him more endearing, and there’s a warmth blooming from your kicking heart.

“Oh my goodness,” you whisper out breathlessly against his lips, before all hell breaks loose. It’s no longer just pressed lips, there is teeth and tongue and even spit and you are going to die again, Kankri Vantas, what are you doing, you have no idea. But even though you’re inexperienced as hell he seems to know what he’s doing and doesn’t mind when you screw up. You begin to catch on, and you’re making tiny sounds against him, pulling him closer, chest to chest , completely stricken with a feeling that you can only call euphoria.

You can barely breathe, and it seems it’s the same for him, because he stops and instead lays kisses on the corner of your mouth down a trail to your collarbone, pulling your loose turtleneck collar down. Every peck sends an icy stab through your middle- you are so unused to physical affection that every tiny movement is enough to make you yelp internally. He moves up, slightly, and licks a wide stripe up your throat, causing you to let out an involuntary, shaky moan. He’s humming against you, pleased. You are an utter mess.

He’s kissing you now at the crook of your neck, and you try to calm down your stuttering heart. He sighs out there, blissfully content- “So, Vantas?” The words prompt you to swallow the lump in your throat. “S-so what, Ampora?” is rasped out. You are unsure of what to say when he actually prompts you the real question straight up.

“So what did you think, Kan, don’t be obtuse,” he murmurs, not actually angry, and though the tiniest part of you is chiming a bell and yelling “Demeaning phrases! Trigger warning!” the rest of you is quite pleased, even if you don’t want to face it. “I…” you start, nervous. You swallow again. “I think I might l-like you too. Maybe.” He just traces a hand up your chest. Somehow, in the process of locking lips the two of you had ended up lying down across the car seats, with you on the bottom. It gives you an excuse to stare up at the vibrant sky and not at him.

After a moment of him running his finger up and down, he says “Hmm..” against your neck, causing you to shudder the tiniest bit and squeak. You do not realize until a bit later that your hands have a solid grip on his forearms, as if you need to be holding some part of him at all times.

“How about,” he says, calmly, and the tone itself makes you want to curl up in his lap or something equally as inane, “How about we try to make this work?” You take a deep, shuddery breath. You…you like that idea. You’re not sure if you can pretend to go on not have…certain feelings for the rest of your afterlife. “I… yes, I think th-that is a good idea, Ampora,” you warble, trying to aim for your usual composed air and falling miserably into ‘eager wiggler barkbeast’ territory. Your dignity is fried up. You are not really sure if you care, at this point.

He slides down so his ear is lying on top of the place where your bloodpusher would be. You bemoan the fact that now it’ll just been re-established that you could barely handle what had just happened- your chest is still thrumming at a thousand beats a second. Ampora doesn’t comment on either your pulse rate or the answer you had just given him, just lies on top of you in silence for a little.

Both of you yawn at the same time- the night sky is tripping you up, and it’s so comfortable here, with him lying on top of you. “Let’s just…” he trails off tiredly. A short pause. “Let’s just..” -Moderate pause.“…Go to…” Long pause. You look down from the celestial heavens and at him, smiling to yourself. He is conked out. Soon, the bubble would disintegrate into something that requires less effort to maintain. You tenderly lift a hand and card his hair once, twice. “To sleep,” you finish for him, a bubbly feeling singing inside as you, too, let your eyes drift close and join him in rest.

You aren’t sure you know what being flushed feels like, but you do know what being happy feels like and he makes you more than just happy. So, to yourself, you admit, that maybe he makes you happier than anyone you know. And that seems like a good reason to stick around.

**Author's Note:**

> Now watch this thing get fucking wrecked as soon as we find out Alpha Dualscar's actual personality  
> /sobs


End file.
